


Up In Flames

by BrightTerror



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon divergence 2x5, Concussions, Family Fluff, Fire, Fluff, Gen, Gil Arroyo Acting as Malcolm Bright's Parental Figure, Good Parent Gil Arroyo, Gunshot Wounds, Happy Ending, Hurt Malcolm Bright, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Whump, Malcolm is a good big brother, Protective Gil Arroyo, Protective Siblings, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29335065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightTerror/pseuds/BrightTerror
Summary: What if Malcolm had been grazed with the gun at the end of 2x5, what if Ainsley had been knocked unconscious by the killer? What then?Basically, the whump we were deprived of this episode.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly
Comments: 10
Kudos: 88





	Up In Flames

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AppalachianApologies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/gifts).



> Hey! I wrote this at 2am because i needed some Whump after that episode. The possibilities where so good and we were deprived of it.  
> My friend @AppalachianApologies and i were talking about this and i just had to write it. 
> 
> Btw, there will be obvious spoilers for 2x5 "Bad Manners" and things will go quite differently from canon after they find Rachel, especially how the fire was created.. for the sake of whump. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_"When it all goes up in flames_   
_We'll be the last ones standing"_

_-"Up In Flames"~Ruelle_

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“The gun is not like the debreather, it's brutal, violent.” Malcolm tried to reason with Rachel as the gun pointed at him. He could see Ainsley getting off the bed, apparently fine enough to try and prey on her, what could she do? He wasn’t sure but he didn’t want to find out. He needed to do something to stop both of them without casualties. 

“Don’t worry I’m going to make your sister beautiful.” She told him, still pointing the gun at him. That’s when he saw it, the knife. Ainsley had a goddamn knife. Crap. 

“Wait” he was talking to Ainsley now. Well, both of them but mostly directed at his sister. “Don’t do this.” he could see Ainsley walk slowly behind her, waiting to pounce at the right moment to strike. “Don't do this.” he tried his best not to glance at his sister and give her away. “There has to be another way.” 

Malcolm saw how Ainsley was mere inches away from Rachel and something in his gut told him that if she went down this path, killed _again_ , he wasn't sure he was going to help her like he did with Endicott, he couldn't do that to himself again. He had to stop her. “Ainsley!”

Rachel turned around and caught a glimpse of Ainsley in the mirror, she acted fast and swung the gun at her, not firing but clocking her in the face with enough force to knock her down. Knock her down and not get up again. 

Malcolm saw Ainsley fall to the ground and a wave of protectiveness grew over him. Sure, his sister was just about to probably murder the killer but that was _his_ baby sister, and he wasn’t letting anyone hurt her. He launched at Rachel to stop her from further harming her. Rachel had her gun raised at her, Ainsley unconscious, unable to do anything at the upcoming threat. 

Malcolm made a noise as he charged at her and Rachel turned around, pointing the gun at him now. She wasn’t above killing him but the fact that he was a man entering her room when it wasn’t allowed made her tremble more than usual. She was on edge. 

Malcolm was used to dealing with killers, so he quickly charged at her, with the intention of getting the gun away from her. That was the most important thing to do; make sure the killer was not a threat anymore so he could check on his unconscious sister on the bed. 

He had a history of always being impulsive about his actions but most of the time they were at least somewhat calculated, but when his family was involved, all calculations went out the window. He noticed this little fact a moment too late when he felt a burst of pain on his side. 

The gun had gone off, Malcolm had done his best to divert the weapon away from his body, but he wasn’t as successful as he thought. He winced and grabbed his side. He knew it was just a graze, most likely. If the bullet had gone all the way through his body or lodged there, he would have known, and it would have hurt more. He didn’t want to think about the fact that he had been in this situation one too many times to be able to tell the type of injury he sustained just from the type of pain. 

That wasn’t important, he was hurt, sure, but that was going to be a problem for his future self. Now he had to stop the killer. So, he grabbed the gun she shot him with and hit her in the head, making her plop down to the floor in a matter of seconds. 

Once Malcolm made sure she was staying down he rushed towards Ainsley. Her temple was swollen from where she was hit and still unresponsive. Putting two fingers to her neck he checked for a pulse and was relieved to find one, his sister was alive. Now that was all it mattered. 

He was about to get his phone to call for backup when he noticed the smell. It was something familiar and he should know what it was... he had it on the tip of his tongue and— fuck, he smelled smoke. He should have realised it earlier, he knew what smoke smelled liked but he had been a bit too preoccupied by his side bleeding out and his unconscious, murderous little sister. Point being, there was a fire in the house, and he had to get out of there, he had to save Ainsley. 

He knelt down, putting his arms under Ainsley’s neck and legs, groaning in pain as he stood up with the dead weight of her in his arms. “It’s okay, Ains, I’m getting you out of here.” He said in a raspy voice. The smoke was getting to him, but it wasn’t as bad...yet. He glanced at Rachel on the floor, still alive but unconscious. 

He stood there for a good ten seconds. 

He couldn’t leave her. Leaving her to die would not be any better than murdering her. Sure, she was a killer, but he _wasn’t_ . He couldn’t be no matter what the others _said_ , what he _did_ in the past, he was no killer. Morally he knew he had to save her. 

Logically, however, he knew that he wouldn’t. He could barely carry Ainsley and he could feel his arms and legs weaken by the second. It wasn’t like he was weak, he worked out all the time and on a good day he was sure he could have carried them both. Maybe he could have carried Ains bridal style while carrying Rachel on his back, like a sack of potatoes. It would be doable. 

The thing was, today was _not_ a good day. 

Between him losing blood at a very steady and worrying pace, and the air getting denser, there was no way he could take them both. So now here he was, left with an impossible yet obvious choice. Take Ainsley to safety and leave the killer here, it was a no brainer. He had already chopped a body for his sister, he wasn’t letting her die like this. 

He still hated the fact that if he survived today, he would be a murderer… just like _his_ father… just like _her_. 

But once again, that was a problem for his future self. His problem now? Getting out of there. 

He readjusted his grip on Ainsley and started making his way out of there. He wasn’t exactly running but it was faster than walking. It was a combination between stumbling against the walls and making a run for it. 

He could smell the smoke getting denser, he was probably nearing ground zero, where it started. He opened a slightly closed door to the tearoom, where he first went to look for Ainsley. That’s when he saw exactly what caused the fire. Ms Windsor was dead, body burning up as she sat on the couch full of flames. Either the couch or the curtains were what triggered the fire. 

Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it, he did a one-eighty turn and tried to make his way to the other entrance, it was his only option now. Sure, there were a lot of doors but not enough time to get to them before it was too late. 

He could feel his legs grow weak and tremble, but he was still walking, sprinting away out of sheer spite. He _was_ going to get _out_ . He _was_ going to get his sister to safety. 

He couldn’t fail. He _wouldn’t_. 

He took one step after the next, focusing on the corridor in front of him, making sure to avoid bumping into the desks and decorations of the hallway. Left foot forward, right foot forward, take a slow breath, make sure Ainsley is secured, left foot forward, right foot forward, take a slow breath, make sure Ainsley is secured. He repeated that in his mind over and over again. 

He didn’t know if it was because of the blood loss or the lack of oxygen or maybe both, but he could no longer see well, everything was blurry, and he could feel his head all hazy. All he wanted to do was plop to the ground right there and then. His brain was all jumbled up. But he felt the weight on his arms, his sister. It grounded him. It kept him going. Reminded him of his responsibility. 

Right now, it wasn’t about him, it was about his family. He was the big brother and ever since he was a kid, he promised himself he would take care of his sweet, baby sister. Time changed both of them, a lot. But he would _not_ , not _ever_ , forget nor break his promise. 

_Left foot forward, right foot forward, take a slow breath, make sure Ainsley is secured. Left foot forward, right foot forward, take a slow breath, make sure Ainsley is secured. Left foot forward, right foot forward, take a slow breath, make sure Ainsley is secured._

Malcolm repeated over and over under his breath, in his head. He would repeat it until it was no longer necessary or until his body won and shut off without his permission. He hoped the first option would win. 

He was snapped out of his haze when a draft of cold air hit his face. Cold air… air... oxygen! He was outside. He made it! He could feel his lungs get the oxygen they were so deprived of only moments before. He was in a yard... or the main entrance, he wasn’t sure. But he was out. Ainsley was out. 

They now had a chance to survive, to make it only moderately scathed. He was halfway through the lawn when the windows exploded from the fire, luckily, he was already out of the danger zone. 

His body won over his defiance and spite, his legs buckled underneath him, and he fell forwards. He had just enough force to make sure Ainsley wasn’t hurt when they hit the ground. Once she was laid on the grass, he checked her pulse again, to convince himself she was okay. She was, there was a pulse. If there was a pulse, then it was going to be okay... he just had to call Gil... Gil would know what to do. 

But he was tired, he fumbled for his phone and he couldn’t even grab it properly. This was not a good sign, he couldn’t even see straight, his eyesight was a mixture of blurriness and dark tunnel vision. 

He was still somewhat kneeling; he wasn’t sure how his whole body had given up yet and completely fell down. But he knew it would not be long before it did. 

It was dark outside, a new moon tonight. Any other time he would not be able to see a thing but the giant roasted manor on fire was a great light source. Good he needed light for— Malcolm slightly frowned and tried to clear his head, why did he need light? He knew he did, but the thought left him as soon as he thought it. 

This was _not_ good. 

Before he could panic even more, he noticed flashing lights. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, or his poor eyes had taken enough and were creating spots in his vision, but he hoped that maybe the flashing lights meant Gil was on his way. 

He heard noise… different noise than the fire, he was almost sure of it. It sounded like... oh, they were voices. People were nearby. That was good. 

Malcolm squinted and tried to see what was going on. Shadows with light sticks were approaching him and he couldn’t quite process who they were. Yup, the blood loss and smoke sure did a number on him. 

He cleared his throat and tried to speak. He was sure he said something, but maybe it was just sounds. hopefully he managed to form a word. 

“Bright is that you?” Someone called. He knew that voice. His brain was more focused on trying to keep him alive than to pinpoint the origin of the voice, which Malcolm had to agree was fair. His internal functions were more important than his memory, for now at least. 

But he knew that voice meant safety. So, he didn’t have many people to choose from. It was Gil. Gil had to be there. “G’l?” He coughed and his throat ached, all raspy and dry. 

“Bright?!” The voice called again and yes, he now confirmed it was Gil. Good. He could let go now. He was going to be okay; Gil could take care of Ainsley now. 

He didn’t fight his body when he finally slumped to the ground unconscious. He had been functioning on fumes all this time, but no more.

_______

Gil arrived at the manor. He had found Edrisa back at the precinct when he was trying to look for Malcolm. She was looking at the evidence board and taking some notes from a list she had on her hand. 

He had been about to leave and look for Malcolm somewhere else, but he was glad he didn’t, and instead asked her if she had seen Bright 

“Oh, he’s back at the Windsor Manor. We cracked the case and he realised Ainsley was there, so he went to save her. He would not let me go, which I didn’t exactly like but on the good side my pressure has gone down below a hundred.” she rambled all in one breath. 

Gil didn’t stay to hear more about Edrisa’s comment. He was focused on going to Malcolm. Dammit, he should have called for backup. Gil thought he was done teaching Malcolm that lesson but apparently _not_. 

He took JT and Dani with him. And arrived just in time to see the manor in flames, no one alive seemed to be inside. Malcolm was nowhere to be seen... what if. 

No. 

No. 

Malcolm needed to be alright. 

He had to. 

He would not lose his kid. _Not_ today. Not _ever_. 

He started running towards the house, well, near the perimeter of it. He made it to the lawn and that’s when he saw something slumped on the ground. 

Could it be? “Bright? Is that you?” _Please let it be him, please let it be him._

He heard a noise coming from the slumped figure. He couldn’t identify what they said but whoever it was, they were still alive. He called for an ambulance right then and there then paced forward, quickly making his way to them. Then he heard a cough. 

“G’l?”

He knew that voice. _Malcolm_. Oh, thank god. 

He got closer and finally saw his kid. Thanks to the burning house he was able to see his kid a bit clearer. 

It was not a good look. 

His kid had smoke all over his face and he was definitely not in a right headspace, given how dazed he looked. He then spotted both Ainsley half in his arms and half on the ground, she was breathing. That much he could tell. But what got his attention was the blood on Malcolm’s hands and his side. 

“Bright?”

Malcolm looked at him with a glint of recognition before he slumped backwards to the ground. 

Gil acted on instinct and threw himself on his knees to catch him. Just in time it seemed, he cushioned his head and held him uptight, half cradling in his arms. “It’s okay kid, I got you. You’re going to be okay… you and your sister.” 

He called for the paramedics again, making sure the cops at the scene heard him and got him what he asked, and fast. 

That’s when Ainsley started to wake, she seemed confused and not entirely there. Gil didn’t have to be a doctor or profiler to know she had a concussion. Gil positioned Malcolm so he could hold him with one arm, while he extended his other arm at Ainsley. “Ainsley it’s okay. You’re safe. Help is on the way.”

Apparently, that's all she needed to hear because she closed her eyes again. 

One minute later the paramedics arrived, taking both Ainsley and Malcolm to the hospital. Gil rode in the back with them, not taking a no for an answer. They were his kids, and he was damn sure he was making sure they were alright. 

_________

Malcolm woke up to the very annoying and unnecessary beeping sounds of the hospital machines. He was annoyed but at least he didn’t wake up to a night terror so at least there was that. 

Wait. 

He heard hospital machines. He was in a hospital. _Why_ was he in a hospital?

It all came crashing down. The case, the killer, Ainsley almost killing the killer... the fire. Oh, shit, Ainsley! 

He forced himself to open his eyes, ready to look for his sister when a hand was placed on his shoulder. 

“Hey kid it’s alright, you’re in a hospital. You’re safe now.” Gil was holding his shoulder gently and speaking the same. He was sitting on a chair next to his bed and looked extremely tired. 

“Ainsley—”

“She is okay, your mom is with her right now. She is awake.” 

Malcolm breathed out, relieved. He did it. He saved her. Now that that was out of the way, he had the time to focus on more pressing matters such as the glaring pain on his side and his dry throat. 

Gil had apparently read his mind because he had a water bottle ready, in front of him. Malcolm took it gratefully. “Don’t move too much, the bullet grazed you, but it still took a chunk of your skin. Luckily it didn’t hit any important organs.” 

Malcolm noted that and nodded. He took a sip of his water and felt as the cold liquid passed through his throat. Yeah, he really needed that. “Thanks.” He motioned at the water. 

“Don’t mention it, figured you would need it when you woke up.” He paused and shifted to have his whole body facing him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Malcolm automatically said but bactracked when Gil glared at him in a way it was clear he was telling him to cut his bullshit and answer honestly. “Oky not fine, but its not bad. My head aches a bit, and my side hurts, but it could have been much worse. So, I'm overall okay.”

“Kid what the hell were you thinking? I thought we were over this, _call for backup_. You could have died!”

“But I didn’t.” Malcolm counter argued. 

“Barely. I don’t want to _ever_ feel the horror of yesterday. Finding the house on fire... not knowing if you— kid you passed out on me, I didn’t know what happened.” He closed his eyes, trying his best not to remember the events of yesterday. 

“I’m sorry.” Malcolm said truthfully. “I didn’t think, I realized Ainsley was in danger and I just went.”

“I know that, you had to protect her. But kid, let me protect you too. You are part of my team; you’re entitled to get help. Besides, I’m always here to help my kid out. Use it.” Gil smiled at him. 

“Yeah, I know…” Malcolm trailed off. He had so many things to think about. What Ainsley did back there, what she _almost_ did... he couldn’t ignore the facts. He was losing her. He would have to tell his mother; she was already aware of the Endicott situation and she had the right to know about yesterday. He didn’t want to tell her; they were both losing her, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit it. 

Then he had the dreading realization that Rachel was dead now. There was no way she escaped the fire… but he still had to check. “Uh... did anyone in the manor survive?” 

“No kid, only you and your sister.” Gil told him gently. It was never good when they lost people, no matter the reason. And Gil knew it would take a bigger toll on Malcolm than the rest. He cared _too_ much. Too good. 

Malcolm mentally cursed. They were dead. She was _dead_ . Dead because of _him_. He left her there… to burn alive. Burning alive was one of the worst ways to die, it was the slowest and the most painful, apart from drowning. And he did that, he caused Rachel to receive that fate. 

He killed her by not saving her. 

Malcolm closed his eyes. The effects of his actions were dawning on him now and he hated it. 

“Stop that.” Gil cut him off his self-loathing spiral. Malcolm realized he was gripping his fist tight and breathing shallowly. He snapped out of it and looked at Gil in question. “It’s not your fault. You saved your sister and closed a case. You should be proud. I am proud of you.”

“I killed her. She was unconscious and I didn’t save her.”

“Not saving is not the same as killing.” Gil reasoned. “I don’t know how you managed to get Ainsley out and yourself given your condition. If you tried to carry her on top of Ainsley, you would all have died. So, don’t you dare to beat yourself up for it. Is that clear?” Gil said in his best dad voice. 

“I guess.” Malcolm wasn’t entirely convinced but Gil did make a good point. He knew he couldn’t risk his sister’s life like that… he might get through it, not today, but someday he might come to terms with it. “Thanks, Gil.”

“Of course.” Gil said. “Now, because I’m great, I’m saving your ass and giving you some free advice. Go back to sleep, you need more rest to recover and that will give you more time before Jessica comes yell at you for almost dying, again. You know the drill”

Malcolm groaned at the mention of his mother. “She will not let me hear the end of it. Can’t you just tell her you already talked to me, telling the whole ‘Malcolm you should stop running into danger. You could have died. Don’t do it.’” He tried to sound like Gil as he talked. “and call it a day? Maybe if she thinks you talked to me, she will lay it off?” He asked hopefully. 

Gil laughed and shook his head. “Ah, no. Not happening. She has every right to lecture you, since you _are_ in a hospital bed, again. And I _did_ tell you all that already. Because you need to be careful.”

“But—” Malcolm was going to talk to his mother anyway, he just didn’t want the hospital lecture again. “Isn’t she taking care of Ainsley? That will surely keep her busy.”

“Ainsley is fine, mild concussion. You? Your lungs were not great, you got shot and were completely out for the last 10 hours. Take a wild guess on who she will talk to first when she hears you woke up?”

“Okaay, I get your point.” Malcolm closed his eyes and tried to sleep some more. Gil was right, he was still tired, and he didn’t want to deal with his Mother right now. “You win.” 

“Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up, and I’ll have some of those twizzlers you like.”

“Liquorice?” Malcolm opened his eyes again to look at Gil hopefully. “Because liquorice is the only valid flavour. The others are simply not right.” He explained. 

Gil laughed and patted him on the arm. “Yes, I’ll get the liquorice. Now rest.”

“Yes, _Daaad_.” Malcolm sighed and went to sleep once again. He had a hell to do, and a lot to process once he woke up, but for now he was okay, his family was okay, and he had Gil keeping him company as he recovered. He could deal with everything later.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Kudos and Comments are so very welcome! Leave your thoughts in the comments! 
> 
> I was originally going to stop writing after Gil found malcolm, but i just had to add the comfort because I love writing papa gil. :D 
> 
> Also, the title of this fic is inspired by the song "up in flames" by Ruelle.
> 
> Have an amazing day!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr as @sherlock-freud (prodigal son blog) and @BrightTerror (writing blog)


End file.
